Replacement and Telling Me Never to Go
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Oneshot drabble. Mrs Hughes reflects on Mr Carson's offer.
1. Chapter 1

**Oneshot. Spoilers for S2E6. **

He had said he would stay until an adequate replacement was found. She would like to know if she would be allowed to determine precisely what an adequate replacement for him would be; because then, she suspected, he would have to stay forever.

She knew he was leaving to look after Lady Mary; nothing in the promise of a higher salary or more comfortable quarters held any sway over him; he was too noble for that by far. Even before this, Elsie would have sworn on her life that Lady Mary could look after herself well enough. What she was loathe to admit was that, based on recent evidence, she was beginning to doubt whether or not she, Elsie, could look after herself. Without him.

And the funny thing was that these days she spent most of her time in between walloping him and kissing him. When he calmly and resolutely talked her into telling her Ladyship about Ethel; when now, he had marched in here proud as anything and told her- just as calmly- that he'd been offered a job. At first she'd thought he must be pulling her leg, but Charles was not the type to joke about this sort of thing. Or indeed about much. His laughter was a rare thing, she realised in these shocked moments when the world seemed hysterically to be spinning around her. She did not know what to say, apart from hasty blurted-out contradictions, so she remained tongue-tied and half listening to him.

When he'd left her alone in her pantry, alone with the great echoing that was her head, she calmly took up the chair by the table, resting her wrist upon it, and waited for the outcry of emotions to wash over her.

First, she was angry. How dare he leave her? How dare he? She had stayed for him, when she'd had a proposal of marriage, never mind an offer of a silly little job with Lady Mary- she thought the wretched girl's name with even more contempt than usual. It was abundantly clear to her now that it _had _been him she'd stayed for, of course it had. How could he walk away from her this easily?

But perhaps it wasn't easy for him. No, it almost certainly wasn't, and she felt the requisite swoop of pity for him and for the impossible position he had been put in. He loved Downton Abbey. He loved Downton Abbey, if not her. If not her as she loved him.

There was a terrible rawness in her throat all of a sudden, left with the unguarded fact. She loved him, and she hadn't told him, and now he was going to leave her. She doubted very much if she could change his mind, he did not like to go back on his word; even if he hadn't given Sir Richard a reply, she knew that the fact that Charles hadn't flatly refused him was well nigh a binding contract in the ridiculous, sweet man's eyes. Goodness, she hated how wonderful he was.

It was half in her mind to get up, pursue him down the hall, take his hand and reach- well, probably jump- up and kiss him, not caring who saw, so long as it persuaded him to stay with her. She sat there still for a few moments, aware of exactly how her arms and legs would need to move to do just that.

But she didn't. She stayed exactly where she was, head bowed, tears on her cheeks, wrist resting on the table beside her.

**End.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Pure wishful thinking for S2E7; so wishful in fact that I don't think it can contain any spoilers for that episode, but it does sort of for the episodes up until that point, certainly episode 6.**

**Follows vaguely on from the last oneshot. I thought they could use a plausible happy ending. **

**Title taken from that song of all songs; _Great Expectations _by Elbow. **

**Telling Me Never to Go**

He had asked her for her advice; he had asked her how she felt about him leaving, or the possibility that he might not be. Perhaps he had been expecting words, or at any rate a slightly less direct demonstration of her feelings on the matter than the one she offered; but then again, she had been expecting to be asked her opinion before now. In spite of this latter bitter thought, her knee-jerk reaction remained the same: you are staying here, with me.

She knew he had been wavering indecisively for a while now, even though everyone else seemed to have made up his mind for him. Maybe he didn't exactly regret his decision, but, she told herself, if he was to any extent in doubt about leaving, he ought not to.

She scarcely thought about what she was doing; the pauses in her actions were not to question the sense or propriety of what she knew she was on the verge of, but more to see if he would allow it. He watched her- almost confused- as she rose to lift a hand to his face, brushing along the skin a softly as she could, before stretching up, placing her hand on the back of his head- giving him just enough time to run like the clappers if he wanted to- and gently pressing his lips towards hers. She had only meant it to be a small gesture- a chaste indication of something far greater- a concise expression of her need to have him with her, because above all else he was her friend. In reality she seemed to end up conveying something that was anything but chaste.

They broke apart, watching each other closely, as if both taken aback by what had just happened. Like she hadn't been trying to find a way to do exactly this ever since the prospect of his leaving had arisen. Her breathing seemed to have speeded up.

"No, Charles," she spoke quietly but as clearly as she was able, "I don't think you should leave. I don't want you to."

With that confession, it was almost as if there was an explosion of heat between them. She felt his arms wrap right around her waist,almost in relief, lifting her from her feet, as her mouth covered his again- no semblance of chastity present. Half surprised, half thrilled, she gasped as his lips moved from hers- her body still entirely supported by his arms- and travelled down her jaw to her neck and then to her collarbone. She felt him lie her carefully down on the settee and, as much as was possible, move to lie beside her. She shifted to allow him some room. Only now, lying face to face, both breathing heavily, did they seem to register the implications of what they were doing; of what she had orchestrated.

Once again, her hand lifted to brush along his face, trying to convey in her touch how grateful she was for his presence. He closed his eyes softly against the feel of her fingers. She was determined that she would not cry, but when she spoke she felt some sort of inevitable constriction in her throat. A wealth of things hitherto unsaid sensing their proximity to escape. His eyes flicked back open and looked almost plaintively into hers. She suddenly became aware that she was in his arms again; perhaps she had never not been.

"Charles," she said, her voice shaking just a fraction, "Don't go. Don't, don't leave me."

She closed her eyes tightly, feeling the way his arms seemed to be holding her more closely than before. Her breath was harsh as she inhaled deeply.

"I love you," she told him, "And I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."

She found she could not look at him, presenting him instead with her brow. A second later she felt kisses planted individually along her hairline. The softest, most loving kisses she had known in her life.

"Then I'll stay, Elsie," he told her.

She nearly gasped her relief. Resting her forehead against his chin, she closed her eyes. Not only did she have a guarantee that he would stay, she was closer to him now than even before. They like that for a long while; it was late enough now for everyone else to be in bed, they did not need to worry about interruptions.

"I suppose you find me very forward," she said at last.

"As I remember, I asked you to be," he replied.

She was suddenly aware that as they had lain beside each other, their legs had become tangled together. One of his hands remained wrapped around her waist, but the fingers of the other hand were entwined with hers. Not breaking the connection between their hands, she gradually raised them until they were higher, brought his knuckles to her lips and then settled their clasped hands by her breast.

"Elsie," he spoke quietly, "If I hadn't asked you, would you have let me leave? Even though you loved me?"

She didn't like to think of what the honest answer to that would be. Looking up into his eyes, she steeled herself to reply as honestly as possible.

"I'd like to think that I wouldn't have," she told him.

He seemed to understand that that would have to be enough. It was almost as if he wanted to say something himself. She looked up into his face, and saw exactly what it was without having to ask.

"And you love me, but you would have left anyway."

He bent and planted a kiss at her neck.

"Forgive me, Elsie."

"You're already forgiven."

She felt him pause as his kisses reached the neckline of her dress. She nudged her hand out from his to undo the first hook, giving him the permission he was asking for. The new sense of potential that was born as she did so was not lost on her, she saw it briefly flicker through his eyes, and felt a matching twinge at her centre.

"You always look so beautiful in this dress," he told her, kissing into the skin at the curve of her bosom.

"I wear it every evening," she reminded him, rather dismissively.

"Yes."

**Please review if you have the time. **


End file.
